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© Liana Finck
May, 1946. Willard Rochester sat in his office in the Federal Building in Manhattan. He glanced at his watch.
When Ellie looks in the mirror, she sees only skin. Hers is dry, but also oily.
The convent sat on a waterless plain.
Sister Theresa rested on a bench at the edge of the convent garden.
In the heart of the heart of the creative class sits Spring Street Social Society—a membership club for our times.
How the powerful learned to launder their reputations using focus groups.
On mourning the loss of a fast food outpost with a candlelight vigil in an asphalt wasteland—and the rise of folk détournement.